


A Man's Home is his Castle

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Castles, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Magic, Dragons, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Logic, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Consensual Kissing, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Prince Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Spirits, Very Minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 00:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: Fairy tales need castles and curses and royalty and unrepentant bad guys. If you can find a dragon and an evil fairy and enchanted sleep, well, those are just bonuses. Not if you ask the poor bastards who have to live through them, of course. They'd prefer to have exactly none of it. But fairy tales never ask for permission; it's kind of their hallmark.The poor bastard of the moment was Prince Steven Grant of the House of Rogers. This time, however, things might not work out entirely in the fairy tale's favour, because the castle happened to be Prince Steven's best friend and, once fairy tales started twisting, you could never tell exactly where they'd stop.





	A Man's Home is his Castle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/gifts).



> I happened to read a Tumblr post by Chicklette and Theprinceofprinces, discussing Sleeping Beauty, and I guess it percolated overnight and my brain came up with this. It's not even close to what you guys were talking about, but it does have a castle and a sleeping beauty Steve. Sort of. *cough*

The symbol on his breast was a hydra, multiple heads held high and proud. Whenever he first appeared in a land it inevitably garnered some comments, because the hydra—what with it being a somewhat unsavoury creature—wasn't a traditional beast of heraldry. Certainly no one would be happy to have one appear on their lands.

He'd always chuckle, admit his choice held more than a touch of whimsy. "You see, I come offering my services in the realms of wisdom and advice. The hydra has multiple heads, and there's not many creatures that do. And if many hands make light work, then many heads make…?"

He'd tilt his head, hands spread wide, smiling expectantly, and inevitably whoever he was speaking with would finish the sentence with a laugh or an answering smile and, "light thoughts," or, "light thinking," or some variation of same. He'd laugh along with them and get his audience with the Knight or the Baronet or the Viscount or, as his reputation grew and spread through the various lands, with the Duke or, eventually, the King.

The man with the hydra on his breast brought wisdom and advice, but more, he brought cunning. Low cunning, to which the nobility didn't usually have access, and high cunning, with which noble familiarity varied. Some were very familiar with it, as ready to employ high cunning as a well-bred weasel, but even more of them, much to his surprise, were mystified.

He uncovered plots, he dug out conspiracies, he discovered truths behind decades-old lies. He searched out plans to kill Knights and Viscounts and Dukes and even Kings and install more malleable heirs in their place. Those plans, he sometimes failed to reveal, because in the end he was loyal only to power and a malleable heir, a malleable King, could be useful to more than the people who put him on the throne.

The man with the hydra on his breast never allowed his wisdom, his advice, to be used between lands, to be used as part of a conflict _between_ Knights or Viscounts or Dukes or Kings. He only advised on matters internal, and he stuck to it rigorously, almost religiously.

It was the only way to assure he'd always be welcome everywhere.

But for someone loyal only to power itself, wandering from place to place, advising other people how best to keep power or to steal it in secret from those to whom it belonged—eventually that wasn't going to be enough.

 

Prince Steven was born in a kingdom to the west, near the border of the great forests, and his parents rejoiced. His hair was the colour of the sun and his eyes the colour of the sky and he soon grew to crawl through the watchful castle, trying to pull himself up with one chubby hand braced on the strong stone walls that stood between them and the untamed and creature-laden forests of the west.

When Prince Steven's first birthday approached, the King and Queen called on Pierce, the man with the hydra on his breast, to advise them on the matter of his naming day. As far away as they were from the other kingdoms, as close as their great castle was to the wild forests of the west, invitations had to be chosen as strategically as positions on a battlefield. Out here, allies mattered.

A great deal of strategy went into selecting who was, and who was not, to attend. Unfortunately for the King and Queen, the strategy was not one intended to help _them_.

 _You should not invite_ these _fairies from the forests of the west,_ Pierce said. _It wouldn't do to have such dark beings at the naming day of such a golden child. They'll understand, of course._ _This is how things are done._

 _Of course_ , said the King, although the Queen felt a twinge of unease. The King soothed it, reminding her that this wasn't the first time Pierce had advised them and he'd never led them astray.

The invitations were sent out, riders carrying them across human lands, because, in the end, on Pierce's advice no fairies were invited. It was unusual, if not entirely unprecedented—there was little exchange between the humans of the castle and the forests of the west—but Pierce's advice had always been sound.

  
 

Pierce went to the darkest of the dark fairies who lived in the forests of the west. She'd never been pleased with the proximity of humans to the forests' border, she'd prefer them to be gone, but they'd always been respectful, and for respect she was prepared to overlook their presence.  

But Pierce came to her—and he'd been here before; fairies, too, had sought human cunning from the man with the hydra on his breast—bowed his head and bent his knee in deepest reverence, and bore news of the royal disrespect, of the deliberate shunning, of the King and Queen not wanting her dark presence to contaminate their golden child, news that he brought into the forests of the west at great risk to himself.

Fury filled her, cold and pure, and her eyes were ice when she stared at Pierce. "Fairy vengeance is satisfying, but human vengeance will _hurt._ Advise me."

Pierce didn't smile, but his eyes were cold and satisfied as he began to speak.

It was a year to the day from his birth when Prince Steven was officially given his name: Prince Steven Grant of the House of Rogers. He was wrapped in white and gold and he seemed to shine with a light that followed him around the massive stone hall. He was grinning, eyes bright, clutching at the fingers of everyone who came close to greet him.

The naming day was proceeding flawlessly, guards standing unobtrusively at the entrance to the grand hall. Massive fireplaces burned at each end and tables of food and drink stretched along the walls, while musicians played quietly in the corner and guests spoke quietly together. Pierce wasn't among them. He'd left urgently after the invitations had been sent, another kingdom needed him, a matter of inheritance come under question, and they'd sent him on his way with their thanks.

When the formal naming was concluded, the Queen set Prince Steven down and under the fond and doting eyes of the guests he crawled to the closest wall and pulled himself up, babbling happily and patting the stone. The guests came forward to speak to the King and Queen, who was keeping a close eye on the Prince, there was good food and fine wine, and all were happy.

The sudden drop in temperature was unexpected, but the majordomo signalled for more wood to be added to the fires.

It didn't help.

The hall grew colder, until every breath was clouding the air. The Queen scooped Prince Steven up, drawing closer to the King.

The ancient, heavy doors slammed themselves shut, dragging gasps from the guests as armed guards took position to protect their monarchs.

The doors creaked, groaned, like they were fighting to hold a great beast at bay, but it was too strong for them and they were forced open.

A dark figure, legs too long, eyes too black, teeth too sharp and gleaming like ice, strolled in.

"My invitation never arrived, but," and the dark fairy bowed, a long, complex, elegant movement, "here I am. And I have brought…a gift," she smiled, nothing but teeth and malice, "for the young prince." Her eyes landed first on the King, and then on the Queen, and narrowed. The Queen knew in that moment she should have listened to her unease. She clutched Steven closer. "To repay respect with respect."

The Queen handed Steven to the King and stepped forward. "I apologise, as Queen, woman, and mother. Whatever I can do to make up for the insult, I will do. I only ask." She stopped. "No, I beg, please, do not harm my child."

The fairy cocked her head like a bird of prey. "Would you beg on your knees?"

Without hesitation, the Queen slid to her knees. The King buried his face in Steven's hair and held him close. Steven clutched at his father's robes and didn't make a sound.

Silence fell over the great hall. Even the crackling of the fire was hushed.

What _should_ have happened was that the Queen's willing humbling soothed the fairy's anger. What should have happened was that the apology, freely given, freely offered, genuinely meant, was accepted. What should have happened was that Queen and fairy realised what Pierce had attempted and turned their joint wrath on the man with the hydra on his breast.

That's what should have happened.

It didn't.

"Very pretty, Your Majesty. But you beg for your child's life. A dog would do the same and it's worth exactly that. My gift to Prince Steven Grant of the House of Rogers is that from this moment forward he will be strong and healthy, beloved and adored by everyone in the kingdom."

Around the room, people stirred, confused. The King felt cautious hope. The Queen, on her knees, was terrified.

"And on his eighteenth birthday Steven Grant of the House of Rogers will receive the gift of forgetting. No one in the kingdom will remember him. All they will remember was that there was a Prince. He, the man, will be forgotten. And if any should try and break his curse, he will fall into an enchanted sleep from which he will never wake." 

As the fairy swept out of the hall, the Queen began to weep.

 

 

_Sixteen and a half years later_

"Bucky!"

Steve planted his hands on his hips and stood in the middle of the garden, which in turn stood in the centre of the castle, whose walls rose high around him. The castle was a brutal chunk of stone that thrust itself out of the earth, meant to defend itself and the people inside against anyone who tried to hurt them. Its moat was deep and its wall were thick and from outside it was a uniform slate grey.

It made the centre of the castle that much more surprising. The air was filled with the scent of roses, they were climbing over the stone fountain, across the ground, twining around the stone benches, and spreading up the walls. The spiked vines threaded themselves through the once-shiny gates that now hung open, partially concealing the two halves of the iron dragon that no longer met.

The garden had once been immaculately manicured and home to more than just roses, but in the sixteen and a half years since Steve's naming day, the attention paid to non-essential parts of the castle had diminished as the King and Queen spent their time and money trying to find someone who could deal with Steve's curse. They'd spoken to wizards and witches and shamans and magicians, all of whom agreed there was a curse, and that any attempt to break it would result in Steve falling forever into an enchanted sleep, but none of them could come up with a way to stop it.

It had been a senior wizard from one of the formal schools of magic who'd been callous—or realistic—enough to point out to the King and Queen that once the curse took hold they wouldn't actually care that they hadn't been able to, because they wouldn't remember _Steve_ at all. All they'd know was that there'd been a prince. Steve would be gone and all they'd have was an abstract concept. _And you can't be emotionally attached to an abstract concept_ , he'd said earnestly. _  
_

He'd seemed to genuinely think he was helping, but—senior wizard or no—the Queen had almost succeeded in throwing him from the highest tower. Steve had barely managed to talk her into letting him go— _no, not over the edge!—_ even if he'd kind of wanted to let her drop him.

Steve always tried to do what was right. He always tried to help. He always _tried._ Not that it mattered. He'd worked out a long time ago that it didn't matter what he did. He was beloved. He was adored. He wondered sometimes if he could slaughter baby bunnies at the dinner table for fun and people would still sigh happily at him. Probably. They didn't have a choice.

Not that he was going to test it. He was fond of bunnies.

The smaller beings who lived in the forests of the west spoke to him from time to time, and Steve treasured those moments. They weren't part of the kingdom. They didn't adore him. Some of them barely seemed to tolerate him. Some, Steve thought they might have tried to help, but none dared cross the fairy who'd laid the curse—not that he'd let them endanger themselves, anyway.

They only person he knew for sure and certain was his friend, not because Steve had been cursed to be beloved and adored but because he wanted to be, was Bucky.

And that was because Bucky wasn't a person.

"BUCKY!" he whisper-yelled. He'd mastered the art, because no one else knew about Bucky. When Steve did get caught calling him, which happened from time to time, he explained that he'd named one of the castle cats 'Bucky'.

No one ever questioned it. When you were beloved and adored, no one ever did.

"You know you don't have to yell." Steve whirled and Bucky was standing behind him, grinning. "I'm literally around you all the time."

Bucky was the spirit of the castle. Not a ghost haunting the castle. He was the spirit of the castle itself. According to Bucky, he'd been here when Steve's ancestors had been exiled to the west and found the castle, sitting empty, the last inhabitants nothing but blood smears on the walls.

_"I didn't like them," Bucky had told Steve one night, sitting on the end of his bed, pale eyes gleaming in the dark._

_Steve had been twelve, spending too much time reading the castle chronicles, and there'd been nothing in there about who those previous inhabitants had been. So he'd asked Bucky._

_"How come?"_

_"They did bad things. Things I'm not going tell you about. Now go to sleep." He'd pulled the covers over Steve's head, tickled him through the blankets until Steve was laughing too hard to remember why he'd cared, then disappeared._

As far back as Steve could remember, Bucky had been there. Bucky was his best friend. Nowadays, when Steve looked at him…Steve didn't know if the spirit of a castle _could_ feel that way, but Steve sure felt that way about Bucky. But even more, as his eighteenth birthday grew closer, Bucky was his solace, his sanctuary, as his parents, in their desperate desire to make sure Steve wasn't forgotten, seemed to have forgotten him.

"Did you have a reason for bellowing or were you just lonely?"

Bucky's voice was teasing, but as Steve sank to sit on one of the stone benches, avoiding the rose vines with the ease of long practice, Bucky sat next to him, nudging up close, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Steve resisted the urge to rest his head on Bucky's shoulder. He'd stopped doing that right around the time he'd started noticing how beautiful Bucky was, started noticing the long line of his back, the way he moved.

"There's another one here."

"Wizard, magician, witch or miscellaneous?"

"Miscellaneous. He's creepy looking and he's got a hydra on his tunic. Who has a hydra as their house emblem?" Steve snorted. "That's got to be bad taste, at least."

"I've seen that before." Bucky looked thoughtful. "Want me to go spy?"

"Would you?"

"Anything for you, Steve." Bucky batted his eyelashes at him, Steve's heart skipped a beat, and Bucky squeezed his shoulder and melded into the closest wall.

The first time Steve had seen it… Well, the first time he'd seen it he would've been a baby and would have thought it was normal. The first time he'd seen it once he was old enough to know people didn't meld into the walls, it'd fascinated him, because Bucky didn't disappear through the wall; he became part of it, shifting into the colour and texture of the stone or brick or wood until he was completely gone.

Steve wandered around the garden, found a pair of shears and made a half-hearted attempt to trim back the roses from around the gates and their dragon, but the vines kept tangling in his tunic and around his legs. When they grabbed his dagger and tried to pull it off his belt, he gave it up as a bad idea.

He was sucking a bloody scrape on the side of his thumb when Bucky tapped him on the shoulder. He didn't jump, because he'd had a lifetime of practice not jumping when Bucky surprised him, just lifted his eyebrows as he looked over his shoulder. Bucky was frowning.

No. Bucky was angry. He'd never really seen Bucky _angry_. "Bucky?"

Bucky shook his head. "Meet you in your room."

Steve nodded.

It took longer that it should have to get to his room, because he had to speak to everyone he passed. The staff was reduced, but a castle didn't run without staff and everyone had to greet him and be greeted in turn, and he couldn't go past without each person asking after his health or did he need anything or could they fetch something for him or making small talk, because they adored him, he was beloved, and an encounter with Prince Steven could brighten even the cloudiest day.

By the time he finally made it to his room and shut the door, he was sick to death of people.

As he leaned on the door, the wooden panels next to the phoenix hanging began to bulge outward, stretching unnaturally, the shape of a hand pushing out, followed by a head, a shoulder. It was strange, anyone else seeing it would probably flee screaming, but Steve smiled and walked over, gently touching the curve of the shoulder. He felt it turn from cool wood to cloth and warmth and solid flesh under his hand and Bucky stepped free of the wall.

Bucky kept stepping forward, pushing Steve backwards, walking him back until Steve sat on the bed. "You want me to sit down?" he asked sarcastically.

Bucky gave a sharp nod and ignored the sarcasm. "He said he can protect you from the curse."

Steve clamped down on the surge of hope, because they'd been here before. Charlatans and liars crawled out of the bushes when there was enough gold on offer to save a Prince. "Do you think he can?"

After a brief pause, Bucky gave another short nod. Steve's eyes lit up.

"Steve, wait."

"What? Why?" Steve half stood, grasping Bucky's shoulders. "Bucky, if he can—"

"He has to marry you."

"What?" It came out as a whisper and he sank back down. He didn't let go of Bucky.

"That's how it works. He has to marry you. He has some magic that will make you look like him if you're married, so the curse won't know you and it'll dissipate harmlessly when you're eighteen. It's not breaking the curse, it's protecting you from it, so you won’t sleep, but you have to be married. _Properly_ married."

Steve's mind was blank. He let his hands fall to rest in his lap and stared up at Bucky. "I don't want to marry him. I want to marry you."

It didn't hit him right away what he'd said. _That_ took Bucky's wide eyes and dropped mouth, and playing back his words and _oh shit, oh shit._ "Bucky, I—" What could he say? What could he say?

Nothing. It was true. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

There was a choked noise, like a laugh, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, because he didn't want to see Bucky laughing at him.

"You're apologising…for wanting to marry me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Bucky. I didn't mean to."

"Oh, gods, Steve. Stop."

It hurt. He felt his face crumple. He knew Bucky wasn't human, he knew it wasn't possible, but he didn't think it would hurt this badly.

"No. Steve. _Shit._ How do people do this. That's not what I meant." There was a gentle touch on his cheek. "Could you open your eyes?"

Steve shook his head.

"Please?"

With a shaky breath, Steve did as he'd asked.

His eyes were luminous, he was almost luminous, Steve could almost see through him. "You have to know it's not possible."

Bucky's eyes searched his, seeking, and Steve eventually nodded.

"Knowing that, not forgetting that, never forgetting that," Bucky's hand cupped his jaw, stronger than human, fingertips soft and smooth, "I want to marry you, too."

Steve's heart exploded. He cupped Bucky's cheeks and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Bucky's. Bucky didn't move and after a second, Steve pulled back, not far, they were barely separated, and Bucky licked his lips, tongue brushing across Steve's, sending prickles of lightning down his spine.

"You're going to need to help me out here. I'm a castle. This is all new to me."

"Pretty new to me, too," Steve admitted with a wry smile. It was hard to kiss someone when you didn't know if the only reason they were doing it was because they'd been cursed to adore you. It laid a foul patina over everything. After the first few fumbled kisses, he'd just stopped, and then the only one he'd wanted to kiss had been Bucky.

Now he could.

"Figure it out together," Bucky said, and Steve nodded, pressing closer. He kissed Bucky, and it wasn't awkward, it wasn't clumsy. It was sweet and filled with laughter, even with the sword hanging over Steve's head, like the sheer joy of kissing Bucky could keep it at bay.

Later, curled in Bucky's arms, Steve said, "I'm not marrying him."

"What if he can protect you from the curse?"

Steve pulled him close. "I don't know, Bucky. I don't know."

Bucky had never lied to Steve. He wouldn't, he didn't think he could, but he hadn't told Steve the entire truth about what he was.

He was the spirit of the castle, but it wasn't all he'd ever been.

He'd been a person once. Not a human, something from the forests of the west. Maybe. He was pretty sure, but he'd been here for so long he couldn't quite remember.

Just like he couldn't quite remember what he'd been fleeing from when he'd sought refuge in the castle. He'd been a little older than Steve, he remembered that, and he remembered that it hadn't been a castle. At least, that's not all it had been.

It had been a trap. A predator. It lured people in, killed their bodies, and fed on their spirits.

Taking Bucky had been a fatal mistake, because however weak Bucky's body might have been by that point—and he remembered blood, he remembered pain, even when he tried not to—his spirit had been strong.

Freed from his body, he'd fought back and he'd won. He'd killed the entity who'd lived in the castle walls, he'd freed what was left of the spirits, and he'd taken the place for himself.

Word had spread that the castle had been dealt with and human bandits arrived, keen to make it their own. They'd been bandits more interested in hurting people than stealing gold, so Bucky had slaughtered them and watched their spirits fade.

Not long afterwards, the first King and Queen had arrived. Not that they'd been a King and Queen then, they'd been nobles exiled to the west with their fiercely loyal household, but they'd been good and desperate, they'd scrubbed the blood off his walls, and Bucky had let them stay.

As the years passed, generations being born, growing old, giving way to the next, Bucky had occasionally shown himself, but whether they'd seen him or not, everyone in the castle knew it was alive. That it watched over them and out for them and protected them.

Bucky kept them safe.

It wasn't until Steve that he'd spent so much time with one person. It wasn't until Steve that he'd grown close to someone. It wasn't until Steve that he'd felt this rushing, crashing, desperate need to be with him.

He knew how scared Steve was of the curse, no matter how well he hid it. If there truly was a way to protect Steve from it, marriage wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to him. Bucky felt like his heart was being dug out of him with a rusty spoon at the thought, but it was better than Steve being lost to the curse.

He slipped through the walls, flowing through stone and mortar, through wood and glass, enjoying the shifting sensations, the changing temperatures, as he made his way to the guest chamber and settled into the wall.

Watching.

Pierce, the man with the hydra on his breast, was speaking quietly with his man-at-arms, a tall, rangy, bearded man in chainmail and practical black leather, the kind that didn't show the blood. A falchion in a battered, well-worn hilt leaned against a nearby wall.

As Bucky listened, he overheard treachery of the most terrible kind. Everything Pierce had promised was a lie. Marriage to Pierce would do nothing but seal Steve's fate. Pierce had gathered favours, called in secrets, and wizards and witches would swear blind to their deities that marriage to Pierce would protect Steve from the curse.

It would all be lies.

The curse wouldn't be fooled. On Steve's eighteenth birthday it would blossom and he'd be forgotten, and once he was forgotten no one would care that he was gone from their memories because no one would remember that he'd ever been there. Steve would be alone, and Pierce could rid himself of his inconvenient husband.

Pierce intended to be the next king.

 _Kill him. Kill him._ Bucky slid silent out of the wall, smooth and clean and invisible, and moved behind Pierce to snap his neck.

His fingers skidded off an invisible shield, sparks exploding inside his head like lightning, and he tossed himself backwards, threw himself into the wall as the man-at-arms leapt across the room to swing a glowing short-sword through the spot where Bucky had been standing.

Bucky wanted to _hiss._

They stared at the spot on the floor, exchanged a few words, eyed the room, then the man-at arms started pulling complex apparatus out of his bags and Bucky sped back through the walls to Steve.

When he reached him, he laid it before Steve, including his failure to kill Pierce.

"I'll go to my parents. It'll be alright, Bucky. I promise. They'll deal with him." Steve pulled him close and kissed him, breathed into his neck.

Bucky wrapped him up as tight as he could and wished he could bring Steve into the walls where he'd be safe.

Steve laid it before his parents.

No, he realised before he got two sentences in. He was laying it before the King and Queen. His parents were nowhere to be found. He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd seen them.

They listened, they nodded, they exchanged glances. "Steven," the King said. "We understand that this was perhaps not what you hoped for in a spouse. But the circumstances…"

"It's the nature of royalty, Steven," the Queen continued. "Sacrifices must always be made. Usually for Crown and Country, but in this case, you're making it for yourself."

"You didn't listen to me. He can't do what he says he can. It's a lie. It won't stop the curse."

"Steven," the King said firmly.

"How do you know it will work? Because he _says_ so? If someone shows up and says they can make the castle turn green are we just going to take their word for it?"

"Prince Steven!" the Queen snapped. "It's been verified. By several different wizards, and by a witch from the finest school."

"Just like he arranged. I _told you_ ," Steve said. "And isn't he the reason this all happened in the first place?"

The Queen faltered. "Who told you that?"

"I read it. I've read all the castle chronicles about the curse. He was your advisor, right? That said you shouldn’t invite the dark fairies?"

The Queen looked uneasy. Steve pounced on it. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"It was our choice to follow his advice," the King said. "It was a tragedy, we made a terrible mistake, but it wasn't—"

The Queen put her hand on his arm, frowning, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by the majordomo clearing his throat and saying, "Pierce was wondering if he might have a word, Your Majesties?"

"Very well," the King said.

"I thought I might be able to lend some reassurance," Pierce said, head humbly bent as he came into the throne room. He bowed deeply to the King and the Queen, then turned and swept a bow to Steve. "And I realised I owe an apology to the Prince."

Steve ground his teeth together and said nothing.

"I made a mistake all those years ago and it was you who paid the price." Pierce folded his hands, face sorrowful, pale eyes fixed on Steve's.

Cold crawled up Steve's back. Behind Pierce, out of sight of anyone else, he could see the wall bulge outwards. _Bucky._ Steve breathed deeply and felt something settle inside him. He wasn't alone.

"I never apologised for that. I'm not sure there's any apology possible for that. That's why I worked so hard to find a way to protect you from the curse. I was the one responsible for it in the first place."

"No, it was the fairy who was responsible," the King said.

"Maybe." Pierce tilted his head. "But I was at least partly responsible. And this is how I can make amends."

The Queen relaxed, the momentary hesitation, the moment when Steve had thought she would listen, gone.

"Prince Steven, I'm sure we're neither of us who we imagined marrying, but we can find a way through this together if we just—"

Steve had reached his limit. He spun on his heel and left.

Prince Steven was beloved by his kingdom. He was adored. There was nothing they wouldn’t do to protect him from the curse.

Add the desperation of time running out, and the words of a man who'd spent a lifetime manipulating Knights and Viscounts and Dukes and Kings, and even the best of people could walk down paths they would otherwise never contemplate.

Paths like refusing to believe your only son when he'd never before lied to you. Paths like planning to force your only son to marry, at the point of a sword if necessary. Paths like locking him at the top of a tall tower until the day of the wedding.

"If I marry him, he's going to kill me. First everyone I've ever loved is going to forget me. And then I'm going to die."

Bucky carded his fingers through Steve's hair. They were curled together on the bed in the tiny room at the top of the tower. The barred window looked out over the garden in the middle of the castle, and the only way in or out was a trap door that was firmly bolted from the outside. Guards were stationed at the top of the stairs and the entrance to the tower.

Everyone knew this was the only way to protect their Prince from the curse. No one listened when he yelled through the trapdoor.

There was no way out.

That wasn't true. There was one other way, but Steve wouldn't let Bucky slaughter anyone. No one in the castle deserved to die except Pierce, and Pierce was warded against Bucky. _Against spirits, probably,_ Bucky had said. _I'll try and drop stones on him, but I could bring part of the castle down, and you won't let me kill anyone else._

"I won't forget you," Bucky promised. Steve's eyes begged him to be telling the truth and Bucky kissed his forehead. "I'm not a person. I'm a castle. Castles don't forget."

Steve laughed softly and closed his eyes. "That sounds crazy."

"I know."  

"You're still a person, though."

Bucky smiled.

Steve stared at the barred window, silent for so long Bucky thought he was falling asleep. He should have known better. When he eventually spoke, something in his voice raised goosebumps on Bucky's skin. "Bucky?"

"I'm terrified of whatever you're about to ask."

"You should be." Steve pushed up on his elbow, leaning over him, and brushed his fingers through Bucky's hair. "Try and break it."

Bucky sat up so fast he had to grab Steve to stop him from falling off the bed. "No."

"Yes. Try and break the curse. I'll fall asleep. Then you can work out how to wake me up. I'm useless to him if I'm asleep. Problem solved."

"Yeah, that solves the problem like you can solve the problem of your clothes being dirty by _setting yourself on fire_."

Steve held out one hand, palm up. "Enchanted sleep." He held out the other. "Marry someone who's going to murder me after I'm forgotten by almost everyone I've ever loved, and everyone else in the kingdom, and won't Pierce be an amazing king when he assumes the throne. And who's to say how long that'll take? Maybe he'll murder the King and Queen as soon as he gets the chance."

He probably would, Bucky realised, given even the slightest opportunity.  

Steve brought his hands together and grasped Bucky's. "Me being asleep is a good solution. It's the best solution. It buys us time. Try and break the curse. Please."

Bucky stood and walked to the wall, leaning on it, hand and arm shifting to pale stone. Steve watched him, eyes calm and steady, but Bucky could see the fear under them. It wasn't nearly enough for what he was suggesting.

Enchanted sleep _would_ buy them breathing room, and it could be broken. It happened all the time. "This is the worst idea."

"I know."

"You really want to do this."

"No, but I think it's the best option."

"I won't leave you."  

"I know you won't. It's why I'm not scared."

"All right," he said, and he was the calm of a storm's eye as he sat next to Steve. "How do I try and break it?"

They both stared around the room, flummoxed. "Does being a castle give you any special powers?"

"Just slaughtering people and walking through walls."

"Try and do that, maybe? Take me into the wall so the curse can't reach me and break it that way?"

"It won't work."

"I know, Bucky." Steve sounded frustrated. "It's the trying. You need to _try._ " Bucky curled his fingers around Steve's, and Steve's clutched his hand. "I am scared," he whispered.

"I know." Bucky pulled Steve into his arms. "I am, too." He stood, bringing Steve with him. "Close your eyes."

Steve closed them and rested his forehead against Bucky's shoulder as Bucky gently walked him across the room. Bucky changed under Steve's hands, cloth and the shift of smooth muscle taking on the rough coolness of stone.

"This might work," Bucky murmured in his ear. Steve knew it wouldn't. Bucky kissed his temple, tilted Steve's chin back and kissed his lips, and Steve's knuckles scraped stone as the world fell away into darkness.  

The mistake everyone made was in believing the curse was an either or affair. It was an understandable mistake, because that would have been the fair thing and people want to believe the world is fair, even when they have incontrovertible proof that it's not.

Steve slept the sleep of the enchanted. His heart beat, his blood pumped, his breath moved, but it was barely perceptible.

(Of course Bucky tried. All kissing Steve did was make Bucky weep; Steve never stirred.)

The King and Queen left Steve in the tower and declared a year of mourning.

Pierce left, furious. Oh, on the outside he was sorrowful, but Bucky could see him when he was out from under observers' eyes. Thwarted, he was filled with rage, but he vowed to return.

The months continued to tick past. The people mourned Prince Steven's loss even as they sought to discover who had tried to break the curse and doomed him to enchanted sleep.

In sure and certain determination that they would find a way to wake him, the King and Queen held a celebration on the Prince's eighteenth birthday. A celebration to tell stories and remember him.

Bucky was there. Even if he spent most of his time with Steve, even if he'd grown to loathe everyone in this castle for what they'd driven Steve to, he couldn't resist a chance to revisit old memories of Steve.

He was there while they ate and drank and danced.

He was there while, amid laughter and tears, everyone from chambermaid to Baronet shared stories of the beloved Prince they adored.

And he was there when the clock struck the twelfth bell of the eighth hour, which was when Steve had been born, and blankness shivered through the gathering, out through the doors, across the entire castle and to the borders of the kingdom itself.

The curse wasn't an either or. Triggering the enchanted sleep didn't cancel it out.

When Steve reached his eighteenth birthday, everyone in the kingdom would forget him.

Steve had just turned eighteen.

Confusion reigned, because no one knew why they were there. Eventually someone remembered that it was the Prince's birthday and they continued to celebrate.

Bucky could only stomach it for a few minutes more, because Steve was gone from the hall. No one remembered him. No one mentioned him. In an instant, the King and Queen had transformed into happier people, laughing and joyful.

Everyone was happier.

No one had the sorrow of a cursed and beloved prince weighing them down.

With Steve forgotten as if he'd never been and only the knowledge that there was a sleeping prince in the tall tower, one no one had any emotional attachment to, it was easy for him to be—not forgotten, precisely, but overlooked.

A sleeping prince isn't an heir and he isn't a spare and with no one having any idea how to wake him, the King and Queen set to the business of having a new heir.

The castle grew cold and inhospitable. People felt watched, but they no longer felt watched over.

The rose vines grew out of control, winding around the Prince's tower until it was completely encased.

"I'm sorry, Steve. We should have known, _I_ should have known, the curse was still going to hit you."

Bucky sat on the end of Steve's bed, his toes tucked under Steve's calf.

"The Queen's pregnant. I'm not going to hurt anyone, I know you don't want me to hurt anyone, but they don't remember you, they don't," his fists clenched, "I know that's not their fault, but trying to make you marry Pierce, that was their fault. I just want them to leave. I want them gone."

Steve didn't answer. Steve just breathed so slowly his chest barely moved.

Bucky allowed himself one brief moment to lay his ear on Steve's chest and listen to his heart beat, and then he returned to the library.

The King and Queen left the castle, the Queen heavily pregnant.

It was too old, too drafty, too expensive. It was breaking down. A castle was pure defence, too warlike, sent the wrong message in this era of peace.

No one was willing to admit they were leaving because the castle scared them.

It was, however, the perfect place to keep a sleeping prince. The Prince's tower was a mess of thorny vines, entirely impassable, and anyone who knew of the Prince would assume he'd been brought with them. He'd certainly be safe.

The muttering, the gossip, was that the enchanted Prince was probably what was wrong with the castle in the first place. No one wanted it to happen again.

When he heard that, Bucky nearly brought the portcullis down on top of them.

"It's just you and me now, Steve."

Steve was still beautiful. Bucky brushed his hair back and gently kissed his forehead.

Bucky kept him clean and dusted and talked to him, because maybe Steve could hear him.

It was why he kept touching him, kissing him, gentle, light, nothing bad, nothing _wrong_ , but what if Steve was in there? What if Steve was in there and Bucky never spoke to him or touched him?

It would be hellish.

He did it for himself, too, but mostly it was for Steve.

Bucky read the entire library, and there was nothing. It hadn't been worth stealing away and hiding.

With the humans gone, Steve's friends from the forests of the west tentatively came to call. The fairy's curse had blossomed, she'd had her vengeance; her attention was no longer a risk, but they were still smaller beings and naturally cautious.

Bucky explained what he needed and they agreed to spread the word, because it turned out Bucky did have something of value to trade: he had human knowledge. The library had been worth stealing after all.

Soon after, he started receiving visitors.

None of them were human. All of them came in secret.

Some of them didn't come to help.

The human shape he'd worn for so long was no longer good enough to protect Steve.

He was the spirit of the castle. His form was his choice.

Grinning wickedly at the goblins who'd decided a helpless human Prince would fetch them a pretty penny, he let his grin grow wider, the gates of the rose garden glinting in the moonlight behind them.

He grew and grew and drew his head back on his long neck, roared his fury as he spread huge bat-like wings, and coughed a ball of flame. The goblins had one second to regret every decision in life that had led them to this moment and then they were ash.

And the rose bushes were on fire.

"Shit, shit." He used a massive front claw to scoop water out of the fountain and over the burning roses. Finally, with a last hiss and a furl of smoke, the fire went out. "I need to work on my aim."

Bucky held out his claws, stretched out his wings, flapped them experimentally and lifted off the ground. He landed, tipped his head back and blasted fire into the night sky.

Yes. With this he could keep Steve safe.

He didn't stay a dragon all the time.

He couldn't hold Steve's hand with a dragon's claw. He couldn't kiss Steve's forehead with a dragon's maw. He couldn’t speak softly and soothingly with a dragon's voice.

And he couldn't talk to most of the visitors who came to try and help Steve. They were all smaller beings, lesser creatures, and a dragon terrified them.

But outside of those moment, he remained a dragon.

As the years passed, Bucky's hope began to fade.

Steve's friends from the forests of the west kept visiting, but they came for Bucky as much as from any chance they could offer help.

Bucky thought they felt sorry for him.

They were smaller beings every one, but they were no longer afraid of the dragon.

It made him happy, because even with a dragon's heart, hope was hard to keep alive.

 

 

 

 

_Twenty years later_

Bucky was curled around Steve's tower, still as stone, grey as stone, half sunk _into_ the stone, and he looked like a carving, a statue, unlikely decoration on an entirely utilitarian tower, watching through slitted eyes as Pierce approached.

His first instinct was to set him on fire.

He stopped himself.

All this time and Bucky hadn't been able to wake Steve.

Maybe Pierce could.

If he could wake Steve… Bucky could set him on fire afterwards.

Slow-roasted. Steve could help. He could turn the spit.

Pierce had his man-at-arms in tow—and Bucky didn't understand why they hadn't aged, but then he'd been a…something and then a castle and now he was a dragon, so humans who didn't age shouldn't even register as strange—with a fairy following along behind, one with a tendency to dither.

"Is the right place?" she asked. "It's awfully run down for somewhere you'd keep a prince. Are you sure—" She looked up and met Bucky's eyes. Hers went wide as her mouth dropped open.

Bucky blinked slowly, trying to project that he had no desire to eat her— _yet_ —and she dragged her gaze away.

"—it's the right place."

"Yes. He's at the top of the tower. We go up the stairs, you cast your spell, and you can go."

"Yes." She snuck another look at Bucky. "Yes, I'd very much like to go."

Bucky listened to them clamber up the stairs and quietly raised his head so he could see in the tiny window. The fairy leaned over Steve and he fought the urge to tear the window out. "Oh, you poor dear boy. This will only take a moment." She added over her shoulder, "You know this will only work if you feel true love?"

"I know," Pierce said smugly and the man-at-arms smirked.

Bucky's pupils contracted as his gold eyes opened wide. _True love?_ She wasn't…

"Now, this is traditional, so here we go. _Sleep like death until you wake, pulled from slumber_ ," the room was starting to glow gold; it matched the feeling in Bucky's heart, " _by true love's kiss_."

The glow became blinding, then snapped out. The fairy nodded. "There." She shot a nervous glance out the window. "Now may I go?"

"It worked?"

"Of course it worked," she said, affronted.

"Then go."

She hurried down the stairs. Pierce nodded to his man-at-arms, who drew his sword and followed her.

Pierce dropped to one knee, pressed his lips to Steve's, and kissed him. Bucky sunk his claws into the window and yanked it free, shoving his nose in and snapping. He couldn't reach and he dragged it out as Steve began to stir.

"HOW," he roared. "You don't love him!"

"No, but Prince Steven will bring me power and my love for power is true and pure. That makes it true love's kiss." Pierce smiled, still bent over Steve, and he gently stroked his hair as Steve's eyes opened. "Everyone hears the rules, but no one really _listens._ "

"What happened?" Steve whispered.

"It's okay," Pierce murmured.  

Bucky swiped a claw through the tower, knocking the top off, as he swung his wing over the walls, protecting Steve from the falling stone. "Steve," he rumbled as he pulled his wing away.

Steve squinted at him.

"It's Bucky. I'm Bucky." He wanted to rip Pierce free, but the space was too narrow, he couldn't see the end of his nose for precision chomping, he couldn't get a claw in without risking hitting Steve.

"Why are you a dragon? You're supposed to be a castle." Steve didn't sound like Steve, he sounded weak, confused.

Bucky could see Pierce's mind working behind his pale, evil eyes as he looked between Steve and the dragon looming over him. Bucky puffed out a warning cloud of smoke, curled a lip back to show teeth as long as Pierce was tall, but he was crouching beside the bed, using Steve for cover.

"Do you remember," Pierce said. "We were to be married, to protect you from your curse?" Bucky couldn't help the rumble of anger, and it shook the tower. Steve's eyes flicked between Bucky and Pierce. "Do you remember?"

Steve's eyes were vague, disorientated, his expression soft. Worry pierced Bucky's heart. "I remember."

"Do you remember, if someone tried to break the curse it would put you into an enchanted sleep?"

"I remember." Pierce took Steve's hand and Steve leaned into Pierce.

A tremor of fury shivered over Bucky's scales and he sunk his claws deeper into the tower.

"I was going to save you, Prince Steven. Ask him." Pierce turned from Steve to face Bucky and it was clear in his face that he _knew_. He'd figured it out. "Ask him if he's the one who made you fall asleep. Ask him if he's the one who made you sleep through everyone in your kingdom forgetting you. Ask him if he's the one who stopped me from protecting you. Ask him."

Steve sat up, swung his legs over the bed, both eyes fixed on one of Bucky's. "Did you do that? Was it you?"

He could never lie to Steve. He would never lie to Steve. Couldn't, wouldn't, in the end they were the same. "Yes. I did that. I stopped him. I made you fall asleep. I made you sleep through," he faltered, and a dragon's voice couldn’t be soft, but he tried, "through everyone in the kingdom forgetting you. Steve. I'm sorry." And curse Pierce to every hell for making Steve find out this way.

Steve stood, as strong and powerful as he'd ever been, and held out his hand, eyes never leaving Bucky and they were cold. "Give me your sword." It was low and dangerous, and Bucky closed his eyes. He wouldn't fight Steve. He couldn't fight Steve. The sound of jingling metal, of steel sliding against steel, made him open his eyes.

He wouldn't fight Steve, but he could snatch him up and hold him until he saw sense…

Pierce put the sword in Steve's hand, Steve took one step forward, spun, and stabbed it into Pierce's gut, twisting as he drove it deep, his full weight behind it, and dragged it out, throwing himself backwards out of the way.

…and Bucky snapped Pierce's head off, letting the body fall, and spat it out into the courtyard.

"I remember everything," Steve snarled, dropping the sword. "Bucky?"

Bucky shoved the tip of his nose into the tower and Steve hurled himself forward and wrapped his arms around it. After a minute, he said, "Could you be less dragon? It's hard to hold onto you like this."

"Hang on."

It took a minute to flow into spirit and find his human shape, arms and legs and human form, but it was there waiting for him, and he ran in the door to tower. At the base of the stairs was a pile of leather and chainmail and weapons, and sitting in the middle was a very confused looking badger. There was no sign of the fairy.

Steve met him in the middle of the stairs and Bucky clung to him. "Steve. Steve Steve Steve. I thought you were—"

"Never, not ever. I'll always believe in you. No one's ever going to turn me against you. Oh gods." Steve shuddered. "Gods, kiss me right now. Right now."

Bucky didn't hesitate, leaned in and kissed him, deeply, thoroughly, fingers clenching Steve's hair by the time he pulled back. "Not that I mind, but why?" He kissed Steve's cheek, his temple, his neck.

"Pierce kissed me."

It was Bucky's turn to shudder.

They held each other on the stairs, sinking to sit down, Bucky pulling Steve half into his lap, stroking his back, his hair, anywhere he could reach as Steve held onto him. Time passed, the sun starting to sink in the sky, before Steve asked in a voice half-whisper, "Is it true?"

Bucky didn't pretend not to know what he was asking. "Yes."

"They forgot me."

"I'm sorry." His heart was breaking, because sorry was useless, it was nothing.

"Everyone?"

"Everyone in the kingdom. Everyone human in the kingdom, at least. I remember you. Your friends from the forests of the west remember you. Pierce must have been outside the borders, because he remembered you."

Steve shuddered again, and Bucky soothed his hand down Steve's spine.  

"I'm so sorry," he said, pressing his head against Steve's neck. "They still remember there's a prince, but they don't remember you."

Steve was nodding. "Okay." He laughed suddenly, a touch bitter but not as much as Bucky would have expected. It was laced through with genuine amusement. "They never saw me anyway. You were always the only one who ever saw _me_. Everyone else only saw Prince Steven the beloved. Prince Steven the adored. The curse told them to. You just liked me."

Bucky smiled softly. "Steve." He cupped Steve's face, rubbed his thumb along his cheek, then leaned forward and pressed the gentlest kiss against his mouth. "Half the time I thought you were an idiot."

His laughter this time was half tears, but Bucky held him and rocked him and rubbed his back as the sun set outside the tower.

The next few days, Bucky filled Steve in on everything he'd missed. Everything Bucky had done to try and break the curse. Everyone who'd come to try and help.

All the time that had passed.

Word got around that the Prince was awake, and smaller beings made their way out of the forests of the west—which were not so far to the west anymore, now that humans had left the castle—to give Steve and Bucky their goodwill. Also to scope out the situation, but mostly to wish them their goodwill.

Bucky turned back into a dragon, a shape as natural to him now as the human shape he wore for Steve, and started clearing out the castle.

They left the roses on the outer walls as deterrent, as statement, as declaration. Neither of them were sure exactly what they were declaring, but they were doing it proudly.

"I need to see my parents. No." Steve rolled over in bed and pressed his forehead against Bucky's shoulder. "That's not right. I need to see the King and Queen. I want this castle and they need me to not be a problem. Word will get around that I'm awake. I'm the eldest son, I'm the heir. They may not remember _me,_ but they remember there's a prince. I'll give up my position in exchange for the castle."

"And if they won't give you the castle?"

"I'll figure that out if it happens."

"I might be able to come with you."

" _How_?"

Bucky grinned and kissed him. "Put a brick in your backpack."

"Are you serious?"

"I have no idea. It should work, at least for a little while."

Steve gave him a look that didn't know if it wanted to be dubious or worried.

"It's worth trying. I don't want you going alone."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"But we don't know what could happen if you—"

Bucky moved swift as a dragon, straddled him, hands on his shoulders pinning him to the bed. "Steve. I'm going. There will be one person there who remembers you."

A brick in the backpack didn't do it. A chunk from the foundation stone at the bottom of the moat, however, did. Steve dove down and found it in the murky water and Bucky couldn't get too far away from it, but that wasn't a problem. Leaving Steve's side wasn't high on his list of priorities.

It took them eight days to reach the new castle. Or rather, the palace. The King and Queen, having left the castle, had chosen to settle in an elegant sprawling manor, surrounded by perfectly manicured grounds.

It took some persistence, some repeated presentation after guard changes at the various gates, before someone would listen long enough to fetch someone who would listen long enough to fetch someone who would look at Steve long enough to see the family resemblance.

Steve and Bucky were brought inside. The castle chronicler was consulted. Old portraits were located. Steve's intentions were ascertained. When he made it clear that what he wanted was the old castle and in exchange he'd sign away his entire birthright, they started to listen.

Papers were brought. Steve read them. Steve signed them. They were sent to wait in a room. It was a nice room, a crackling fire, only slightly worn rugs on the floor, the hangings not at all threadbare. Steve sat in an ornate chair with stiff fabric and carved wooden arms, and Bucky sat on the footstool, pulling Steve's feet up to rest next to his thighs so he could rest his head on Steve's knee.

He wrapped one arm around Steve's calf. "How are you doing?"

"I'll be fine."

"Not what I asked."

"No."

He squeezed Steve's leg.  

"I'm doing," Steve sighed, "I'm doing, actually I'm okay, Bucky."

"I'm here."

"I know." Steve's fingers stroked through his hair. "Why do you think I'm doing okay?"

Sometime later the door opened and a fussily dressed woman said, "The King and Queen want to see you."

"Do we want to see them?" Bucky asked Steve.

"I guess so."

The woman led them to a receiving room. The King and Queen, twenty years older, wider and greyer and wrinkled, but still much like Bucky remembered them, were standing at one end. Steve and Bucky stopped near the middle. "Steven Grant," the woman announced, and Steve's grip on his hand tightened, "and companion."

They stared at each other, the silence growing awkward and uncomfortable. Bucky refused to break it and he glanced sideways to see Steve had his stubborn face on. The first words weren't going to come from him. Under the stubbornness, hidden where only Bucky would be able to see it, there was longing, there was sorrow, and he squeezed Steve's hand and moved closer. It was all he could do.  

"You were the Prince," the King finally said. "I remember that you were the Prince. I remember that. Everything else." He shook his head. "It's gone."

"I know," Steve replied.  

The Queen walked closer, stopping just in front of Steve. "I don't remember you being my son, but I believe that you were. I'm sorry I can't give you more than that."

Steve nodded.

"Thank you for coming here. Thank you for what you did. You've given stability to our country. It's the nature of royalty…"

"That sacrifices must always be made," Steve finished for her.

"I guess you've heard that before."

"A few times."

Her smile was bittersweet and she looked away, her eyes falling on Bucky. "And who is your companion?"

"I was your castle," Bucky said.

The King blinked and exchanged a look with the Queen. "Our…castle?" the King asked.

"Yeah. Plus I was a dragon for a while, but mostly I love your son."

"I…see," the King said.

Bucky enjoyed the sheer bafflement, because he obviously didn't, and turned his head to kiss Steve's shoulder.

"You were our castle," the Queen said, and Bucky could tell she believed him. "You watched over us."

"I did." He lowered his voice, and he didn't care if it sounded like a threat. "Until I stopped."

"Will you watch over," he could tell she was fighting not to stumble over the words, "our son the same way?"

"I will. Until the day I cease to exist on this earth."

"Thank you," she replied, and bent her head to him, the King followed suit, and Bucky was so taken aback he tucked himself into Steve's side.

The fussy-suited woman ushered them out and fussily presented them with horses and equipment and merchant credit of a startlingly high amount, and sent them on their way.

The sun was high overhead, bright in a cloudless blue sky, shining down on them where they sat on the stone bench next to the fountain in the middle of the garden in the middle of the castle. It wasn't manicured, but the roses were mostly under control. "We own a castle," Steve said.

"You own a castle," Bucky corrected.

Steve rubbed his chin. "That's a problem."

"Why?"

"You should own yourself."

Bucky shrugged, because it wasn't of any concern to him. "What we really need is to work out what we're going to do with it."

"First things first. Marry me. Then what's mine is yours and _we'll_ own a castle."

Bucky started to grin. "You want to marry me so you can give me a castle?"

"And some other reasons," Steve said, leaning forward to kiss him.

"Okay," Bucky said, when he was finished returning the kiss. "I'll marry you." Steve looked so pleased Bucky had to kiss him again. "And then what do we do with the castle?"

Steve's expression slowly turned serious. "I want to turn it into someplace people with nowhere to go…can go."

"Steve?"

Steve reached for Bucky's hand, turning it over and kissing his palm. "My parents tried to force me to marry someone who was going to kill me. I lost everyone I've ever known except for you. If it hadn't been for you protecting me, I don't know what would have happened while I was asleep. I don't know how long it's going to take me to get over everything that happened. I don't know if I ever will."

Bucky could see the sheen of tears in Steve's eyes, but they were gone between one blink and the next. He slid his hand around the back of Steve's neck and squeezed gently.

"We have a castle. We have a castle who can turn into a dragon, and we've got me. We've got friends in the forests of the west. I say we turn here into somewhere for people with nowhere else to go. For people who've been cursed. People who've been enchanted. People who've been abandoned. They can come here, and we can keep them safe."

It took Bucky time to get the words out past the lump in his throat, time in which Steve looked at him worriedly. "Yes," he finally managed. "Yes, it's perfect. Gods above and hells below, I love you so much." He kissed Steve as gently as he knew how. "You _are_ going to be okay."

Steve nodded and Bucky pulled him closer.

"How soon can we get married?" Steve asked after a minute.

"Depends. Do you care if we're married by a human?"

"Not at all."

"Tomorrow?"

"In the morning?"

"In the morning," Bucky said with a laugh.

"Good." Steve leaned back. "I love you."

The roses stretched westwards from the castle walls, and the forest kept growing eastwards, and when they met they fought a brief, vicious skirmish before they reached an accord.

The trees stretched tall and the roses twined almost lovingly around them. Saplings that moved east past the line were smothered, shoots that grew west past the line were eaten, but beyond that it was the most peaceful of borders.

The castle was a sanctuary not just for the cursed and not just for humans, but for anyone who needed it. For ordinary people, people with the misfortune to choose the wrong spouse, to be born into the wrong family, hopeless people with nowhere else to run.

It had been two years since Steve traded his birthright for the castle, he almost never woke with nightmares anymore, and Bucky was finally ready to act.

They had allies now, from both sides of the forest. No great powers, only ordinary people and smaller beings, but raindrops can become a flood and pebbles an avalanche, and they were all ready.

No one invited Steve. Bucky didn't think he'd approve.

They entered the forests hunting a fairy, Bucky's foundation stone in the pouch of a goblin girl, his dragon wings furled to fit through the trees, clawed feet digging into the dirt.

When they reached the forests' depths, where the shadows had never been touched by the sun, their numbers grew and not with smaller beings. Greater fairies walked among them.

They found the darkest of the dark fairies—legs too long, eyes too black, teeth too sharp and gleaming like ice—who'd cursed Steve as an innocent child and they ran her to ground.

Together they tore her down and cast her to the earth and left her broken and powerless in the heart of the forests of the west.

In bed that night, Steve's head resting on his chest, Bucky made the decision not to tell him. Steve didn't have a heart for vengeance.

Steve sighed in his sleep, twisted, and tucked his knees against Bucky's legs, hand twitching until Bucky slid his fingers through Steve's. They were worn and calloused, hard from wielding sword and shield, scarred from the cuts he'd taken defending people no one else would care about, and Bucky realised he was wrong.

Steve didn't have a heart for vengeance for _himself_ , but he had one for everyone else in the world.

"Until the day I cease to exist on this earth, Steve," Bucky murmured. "Until the day I cease to exist."

 

 


End file.
